


of baseball bats and birds

by darlenedytee



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - High School, Cute, Fluff, Humour, I love this pair so much, M/M, Pining, Puppy Love, also i know this is a stenbrough fic but reddie is so cute in this too, baseball!bill, bill as a baseball player is my favourite, side reddie, soft soft soft, theyre just really cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 10:43:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20637866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlenedytee/pseuds/darlenedytee
Summary: “Bev,” Stan starts, turning to face her. “Who’s last bat?”She shoots him a strange look at his sudden investment, shifting her gaze to the fence. It only takes seconds for her face to morph into that of understanding. “Oh, you mean Bill Denbrough?”“I suppose.” Stan responds.orStan goes to a baseball game with his friends, and can’t seem to take his eyes off a certain someone.





	of baseball bats and birds

**Author's Note:**

> i've been wanting to write this pairing for a while. and i've always loved the baseball!bill head canon. i hope you guys enjoy. 
> 
> the support on my last fic has been incredible, and the comments have given me the motivation to keep posting.
> 
> so thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Stan is quiet in all senses of the word. He is not one for social gatherings, and dreads unnecessary interactions. He prefers calming activities which can be done by oneself. 

Which is why he’s baffled to find himself at a high school baseball game, sitting in the bleachers with a few of the only friends he's ever made in his life. Richie, and Beverley. 

Despite what others may think. Those were in fact, not the only friends Stanley Uris had. Eddie was running late because his mother insisted flu season was a bad season to go out into the open. Ben had piano lessons that unfortunately happened to run throughout the game. And Mike, was in fact, a baseball player. Stan also on occasion spoke to the local librarian.

So yeah, Stan had friends. Not a lot by any means. But they still counted. Five was a good number. (Six, he reminded himself, if he was counting Ruth. Six, was _also_ a good number.)

“I can’t believe in your three years of attending our school, you've never once come to any of the sporting events.” Beverley says, baffled. She’s shoving popcorn slathered with artificial butter into her mouth, and it makes Stan gag.

“Why would I want to?” Stan cringes, watching a guy his age get a ball to the face.

“Stannn,” Richie drawls out, tutting as he shakes his head. “You gotta loosen up. C’mon, shake out them noodle arms!” He prods, wiggling his own limbs as if to demonstrate. 

Stan promptly rolls his eyes at Richie, turning to face Beverley instead. “There isn’t much worth seeing here.” Is all Stan says, pulling up his grey hoodie to blockade himself from the wind. 

It's uncomfortable, sitting in the bleachers. The wind is a little too strong tonight, which is definitely affecting the players on field. And it looks like it's about to rain any minute.

“Will they cancel the game if it rains?” Stan asks, hopeful.

“Doubt it.” Beverley grimaces. “Depends on how bad it gets. This is semi-finals. So they aren’t going to cancel it if they don’t have to.” She explains, laughing when Stan groans. 

Beverley eventually moves on to talk with Richie about their physics paper. Which leaves Stan to actually try and pay attention to the game. It’s difficult, to say the least. But he finds himself perking up when Mike’s team moves from the outfield to bat. It was always more interesting that way. Mike is second last, and Stan watches him chat with a boy he is sure he has never seen before. He would remember if he had.

The guy Mike is talking to is last bat. It’s hard to point out any discernible features, but his face is smooth and boyish, giving off a jockish impression. And his body is tall and fit.

He’s nice to look at, Stan decides offhandedly. And if he’s a friend of Mike’s, he’s probably a good guy, too.

Stan watches as the mystery boy laughs at a joke Mike must have said, eyes crinkling as he shakes his head in disbelief. He feels his ears go red at his staring. 

It’s not Stan’s fault cute boys exist. Therefore, he deems it alright to ogle at times. As long as its controlled, and in secret. It's still embarrassing though, regardless. 

Both Mike and the boy have redirected their attention to their team’s batters, reacting appropriately whenever something of interest happens. 

“Bev,” Stan starts, turning to face her. “Who’s last bat?”

She shoots him a strange look at his sudden investment, shifting her gaze to the fence. It only takes seconds for her face to morph into that of understanding. “Oh, you mean Bill Denbrough?” 

“I suppose.” Stan responds.

Beverley is about to say something, but it gets cut off by Eddie clambering up onto the stands with them, and taking a seat beside Richie, who pulls the smaller boy close to his side, asking in a hushed murmur about his day. Stan has noticed over the years that as much as Richie and Eddie may argue, the domestic moments like these, seem to make up for it all.

“Hey,” Eddie greets the other two with a small wave, as Richie gives him a kiss on the head over his hood. “Who’s winning?”

“We’re in the bottom of the sixth,” Beverley says, “Its four to four. Tie game.” Eddie nods along, before turning his attention towards the sky.

“It’s going to rain.” He says glumly, watching the grey clouds lurk over the group. “I don’t really want to catch a cold, what with exams coming up and all.” He scrunches up his nose, sending the sky a disapproving glare.

“Spoken like a true mom, Kaspbrak.” Richie teases, pinching Eddies cheeks as he swats him away, unamused.

“I am not a mom.” He retaliates, brows furrowed.

“Eddie, you carry around bandaids and a travel sized bottle of antiseptic spray in your fanny pack.” Richie says, “You’re a mom.” 

Eddie gives him a punch in the shoulder. “Says the guy who _still_ carries around my inhaler. I don’t really have asthma, dumbass. Remember?” Eddie teases, making Richie sputter out a “That’s different!”

Stan tunes out the duo, turning his attention back to the field. There are only three batters left. And he finds himself anticipating the end of the inning.

Bill, is squatted down with his elbows on his knees, and Stan can see him frown clear as day despite the distance, as their batter doesn't make it to first, sending up a pop fly that gets caught by second. 

Stan, despite himself. Begins to feel an investment towards the game. More so towards Bill, maybe. But he convinces himself of otherwise. Watching Mike grab a bat, stepping up to the plate.

There’s someone on second and third as Mike takes a quick practice swing, settling himself into position. The pitcher pulls his arm back to prepare for the shot, and when he throws it, Stan hears the bat smack something hard.

Even Mike looks stunned, as his first swing makes it past the fencing, and his team erupts into applause.

“Wow!” Richie cheers, “That was a pretty nice home runner from Hanlon there!”

The group agrees, sending a mixture of ‘Yeah!’s and ‘Let’s go Hanlon!’s down to the field. Mike, spares them a quick look, smiling warmly and beginning to wave, before an unsuspecting person jumps on his back, throwing him off his balance. 

Mike doesn't look scared though, as Bill laughs, popping himself off of Mikes back and standing himself back up again, beaming. It was as though this was a regular thing, for Bill to be so emotive. It made Stan’s insides feel gooey. 

“It appears that Stany boy over heres got a lil ol’ case uh puppy love.” Richie says, in what Stan thinks is trying to be a southern voice. It makes his cheeks turn rosy.

“Can it, Tozier.” He warns, eyes icey. 

But Richie has never been all that scared of Stan. Because in all honesty, Stan gives him no reason to be. Stan’s not intimidating, he knows this. He’s just a bitch on occasion.

“Awe, Stan’s got a crush!” Bev coos, going to ruffle his hood. Stan quickly scoots away, swatting violently at her hands.

“No I do not.” He says matter of factly, frustration seeping through his tone. “I was just curious is all. I’ve never seen him around before.” He tries to explain. But when Richie starts making obscene references and gestures. Stan decides it’d be best to ignore them.

Bill is up to bat, anyway. And that in and of it self, is much more interesting than anything Richie could have to say. 

Bill seems giddy off of Mikes last runner, so when he goes up to bat, theres a cockiness in his stride. It makes Stan smile, surprisingly. Usually, that kind of thing was a huge turn off. But Bill does it in such a harmless playful way, that its hard to be mad. 

“Oh hey, your boyfriends batting!” Richie suddenly notices, nudging Stan on the shoulder. Stan quickly shrugs him off, muttering out a quick “He’s not my boyfriend, jackass.” 

As Richie is trying to argue with him, Stan hears the familiar sound of a hit, and turns to the scene to see Bill sprinting across the field.

The first thing Stan notices, is that Bill is fast. His long legs give him plenty of room to take big strides, and his form is impeccable.

As Bill runs, around the time he reaches second base, Stan feels a cold sensation on his nose. 

_Rain_. 

“Ah for fucks sake!” He hears Eddie yell, exasperated. Eddie quickly makes his way down the bleachers to find shelter, Richie in hot pursuit.

Stanley can’t find himself to mind the rain, even as it picks up. Because Bill is running with the biggest smile on his face Stan has seen tonight, and it makes him giddy. He feels like he's in grade school again, but he doesn't really mind. How could he? In a moment like this, as Bill makes it home. Mike repaying the earlier act and jumping on his back excitedly.

After the inning is over, Beverley tells Stan she’s going to get the umbrella out of her car for them. But Stan assures her he’s fine.

“Bev, seriously. Go stand under the awning with Richie and Eddie. I like the rain.” He says, gesturing towards the pair, cringing with amusement when he sees Richie doing a handstand against the wall, Eddie chastising him to get down before he hurts himself.

“You sure?” Beverley says warily, judging Stan’s reaction. 

“If I didn’t like it, I’d be with those dumbasses” He smiles, and Beverley laughs in response.

“Alright, don’t catch a cold though.” She mothers, tugging on his drawstrings to tighten his hood against his head. Before hopping off the stands, running to join Richie in his sudden handstand fixation.

Stan, spends the rest of the game sitting in the stands. Until the bottom of the ninth, when thunder rumbles loud, and Stan gets a little put off.

Not to say Stan is scared of storms, because he’s not. But he’s pretty sure the people who got electrocuted and died during storms weren't initially all that scared of them either. His teeth are also beginning to chatter a little too much. If he was cold before, he's freezing now.

He makes his way towards the trio under the awning, who had given up on the handstands, and were now chatting aimlessly.

Richie notices him first, grinning. “Stanny boy got tired a’ staring at his lover, he's come to join us now!” He fakes excitement, mocking a swoon. Eddie smacks Richie on the shoulder, and Stan thanks him briefly, standing beside Beverley, who's wide eyed.

“Dude, you're soaked, and shaking. Like, violently shaking.”

“Uh- No shit.” Stan says, pursing his lips. “I was in the rain.”

“You should warm up.” Beverley instructs, “Theres a diner across the street, we can get cocoa.”

The thought is nice, in theory. But Stan isn’t quite ready to leave yet. He’s not sure how to express that without sounding like a desperate pining sap though. 

He realizes, soon after. That he _is_ a desperate pining sap. Here he is, shaking violently under the awning of baseball field as it downpours, for some guy who doesn't even know who he is. 

Regardless, he lets himself be reckless for once. Richie would be proud.

“I’d like to watch the rest of the game.” He chatters out, acting as nonchalant as a person suffering from hypothermia can act. 

Bev, seems to make the connection of wanting to stay because of Bill. But because she has some semblance of what it means to be kind, she agrees to let him stay, no further questions asked. Stan can still sense the concerned looks she keeps shooting him. But he supposes that it's only fair.

__________

Twenty-minutes or so later, the game is over. Mike has ran up to the group, and is thanking them for coming. “Seriously, thank you.” He starts, flushing. “You’re support really helps.”

“Awe” Richie coos, hand on his chest. “Love you Hanlon. You’re my ride of die.” Richie blows a kiss for emphasis, making a poignant ‘Muah!’ sound.

Now that the games over, and Bill has disappeared to God knows where, Stan feels gross. He’s soaked. All his clothes are far past damp, and even his curls are stuck to his face. Each time the wind blows, Stan winces, blowing hot air onto his shaking hands. It doesn't help all that much, but its something. He regrets denying Bev's umbrella offer. 

“Hanlon!” He hears an unrecognizable voice say, and when he looks up to see who’s come to greet the group, his eyes bulge out of his head. Eddie must notice, because he can’t help but let a snicker slip from his lips. Nobody else seems to see, so Stan merely shoots him a glare and lets that end there.

When he gets a look at Bill up close and personal, he's not disappointed, to say the very least.

“Great game, man.” Bill smiles, pulling Mike into a firm and quick hug, patting him on the back.

Bill has changed clothes. His hair is still kind of wet, but his uniform has been replaced by a pair of sweats and a blue hoodie. He's holding an umbrella, and it must not be his. Because it hasa kids cartoon design all over it. Cute.

“You did great out there too, Bill.” Mike returns the praise, and Bill gives him a smile at the words. “Oh!” Mike starts again, gesturing towards the group. “These are my friends. I’m not sure if you’ve met them yet, but this is Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Beverley Marsh, and Stan Uris.” He says, gesturing to each person as he lists them off.

Bill smiles amicably at each person, nodding along before his eyes reach Stan, a look of concern sweeping over his face. “Woah,” He starts. “You’re fucking soaked.” Bill says.

A part of Stan wants to roll his eyes at the obviousness of the statement. But a bigger part of him, feels fuzzy at the words of concern. “Yeah, I know.” Is all he says, curtly. 

“Aren’t you cold?” Bill asks, curious.

“Oh yeah,” Stan starts “I’m fucking freezing.”

“Alright, well do you need a ride home? You’re gonna get hypothermia, man.” Bill frowns, squishing the fabric of Stan’s sweater, and grimacing when water pours out.

Their conversation is briefly interrupted through, when Stan heres a faint “Begone!” Being whisper yelled, and turns to see Richie shooing the group away. Both him and Bill stare as the Losers makes their attempt at a graceful leave, Eddie shaking his head disapprovingly as Richie starts to sprint down the parking lot.

When Bill turns back to look at him. Stan can’t help but roll his eyes. “Fuckers,” He mutters, hands shaking. “Ignore them.” he waves off, “And thanks, but I’m alright. You don’t have to do that, I’m sure you have places to be.” 

“I don’t.” Bill says immediately, “Besides, I want to help.” He smiles wide, and it makes a flush rise up Stan’s neck. 

“Well, alright.” Stan replies, awkwardly. Shoving his hands in his pockets, before cringing at the squishy feeling, pulling them out immediately after.

“Okay, cool.” Bill says, nodding towards the parking lot. “I’ve got a change of clothes in my car. You can wear them for now. If not you're gonna soak my seats.” He explains, beginning to walk towards the parking lot. “You can head to the change rooms, i’ll meet you there.” Bill smiles, running off when Stan nods in response.

Stan’s heart is going a mile a minute as he tries to stop staring at Bill running behind him. It’s embarrassing. So Stan regains some of his self control, and picks up the pace towards the change rooms.

As he walks, he dials Richie’s number. It takes mere seconds for him to pick up.

“Stan the man, how goes it?” Richie asks, smile coming through in the way he talks.

“You guys are assholes.” Stan quips, opening the change room doors. “What the hell were you thinking?” 

“Well, you're with Big Bill, no?” He teases.

“Not the point.” Stan barks.

“Im just saying,” Richie starts, “I don't see what the problem is! You got what ya’ wanted. And Bills obviously interested.” 

“You think so?” Stan asks immediately, before regretting his decision and shutting up.

“Awe, Stan, ya’ nervous?” Richie teases,

“No I am not. Fuck off Ri-” The change room door swings open, and Stan immediately ends the call, looking up to face Bill. He’s holding a folded outfit, smiling a little sheepish at Stan. He can’t help but wonder why Bill’s earlier confidence has diminished.

“Who were you talking to?” Bill asks curiously, taking a seat on the bench in front of Stan.

“Nobody.” Stan retorts, and Bill gives him a funny look, before dropping it.

“O-kay then,” He laughs. “Well, here you go. I hope it all fits.” He hands Stan the pile. 

“I’m sure it will. Thank you. You really didn’t need to do all this” Stan smiles, making his way to the stalls. 

“Ah well,” Bill starts, “The things you do for cute boys.”

Stan doesn’t dare turn around as he picks up the pace. A heavy blush coating his cheeks.

__________________

It doesn't take long for Stan to get dressed. Pulling on the pair of pants and slipping on a worn navy hoodie that says “DENBROUGH” in big bold letters on the back.

Stan remembers when Mike showed off his last year. “They’re nice, right? Most people wear the jackets, but I like these more.” Stan had agreed, feeling the material and commenting that it was soft. Bill’s hoodie wasn’t as soft. It was worn out from the countless times he must have worn and washed it. For some reason, Stan found himself liking it even more. 

When he leaves the stall, Bill is still where he was when Stan left. Sitting on the bench, twiddling with his phone. When he hears footsteps, though, he looks up to meet Stan. He smiles immediately upon seeing him, standing up.

“Looks good,” He comments, eyeing Stan. “Better on you then me.”

Stan starts feeling his confidence bubble up to the surface. “Doubt it.”

Bills eyes widen a fraction, but he quickly recovers. “C’mon, let’s go.” He says, walking to the door.

Stan follows eagerly, not feeling nearly as cold as he had before.

When they get in the car, Bill immediately goes to turn up the heat. “How are you feeling? Still cold?” 

“Yes, but it’s better. Thanks.” 

“No need to thank me.” Bill assures, pulling out of the parking lot. “Where do you live?” He asks, and nods when Stan recites his address.

After that, a silence stretches throughout the car that Stan feels an urge to fill.

“How long have you been playing baseball?” 

“Well, my whole life, I guess. I used to play catch with my dad when I was really little, then it turned into him buying me a glove and bat. I’m kind of hoping to pursue it. I don’t know, though.” He seems distraught in the way he says it. “I don’t know if I could. It’s really competitive.”

“You’re really good.” Stan says. “I don’t really know much about baseball. But I thought you were great.”

“Thanks,” Bill mumbles sheepish, a blush rising from his neck and on the tips of his ears. “That means a lot.”

Silence. 

Bill clears his throat, obviously trying to ease the sudden tension in the vehicle. “So, what do you do?” 

“What do I do?”

“Yeah,” Bill says. “Like, what do you like to do for fun?”

“I like birds.” Is all Stan says.

“Like, you watch them?” Bill asks, genuinely curious.  
  
“Yes.” Stan replies. “I document the ones I see. Sometimes I sketch them as well. It’s relaxing.”

Bill hums, shooting a glance at Stan. “You should show me sometime.”

The sentence implies a want to do this again. A want to meet and speak with Stan more than once. Stan tries not to smile too wide. “Sure.”

Bill nods, turning back to the road. “You’re friends are interesting.” He changes the subject, teasingly.

Stan grimaces, turning to look out the window. “They’re pains in the ass is what they are.” He says, before rethinking his phrasing. “Well, Richie’s a pain in the ass. I suppose the others are fine. Richie just lacks the dignity the others possess.” 

Bill laughs, and it seems like its about something else.

“What?” Stan asks.

“I don’t know, you just speak so- refined.” Bill smiles, shaking his head.

Stan frowns, “Sorry, I try not to.” And it’s true. Maybe not around the Losers. But the rest of Derry doesn't seem to appreciate his pristine demeanour, or calculated way of speaking.

“No no no,” Bill rushes out, “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s cute. I like it. You don’t need to dumb yourself down for other people, Stan.” Bill assures.

Stan blushes at that, staring down at his boots. “Thanks, Bill.”

“Of course.” He says, car turning down Stan’s street.

Stan’s eyes go wide with recollection. “Shit!” He says, and Bill’s head whips toward him.

“What? What’s wrong?” His brow furrows.

“I left my soaked clothes in the change room.” He frowns, realizing that he had never picked them up off the gross stall floor.

“That’s okay.” Bill goes to rub Stan’s shoulder. “Get them at school tomorrow.”

“Yes but what about your-” 

“Just give them to me at school,” He starts. “Or don’t. I wouldn’t mind seeing you wear my name around school.” 

Stan feels his heart pound at that. “Oh,” He fumbles over what to say. “Thanks.” 

Bill laughs, pulling into Stan’s driveway, parking the car. “C’mon, I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Oh you don't have to.”  
  
“I want to.” He says, seriously. And Stan just nods dumbly, unbuckling himself, opening the door.

They walk so close their shoulders brush, and Bill keeps shooting Stan glances he’s having trouble ignoring. Then he begins to question why he’s even trying to ignore them to begin with.

“So,” Bill drawls out, “When can I see you again?”

In a last ditch attempt to prove he has composure, Stan says, “Whenever you want.”

“Stan?” Bill stops, turning to face him.

Stan halts his walking too, turning to question him. “Yes?” 

“Let me take you out.” He says a little loud. It's obvious Bill's nervous as he takes a step forward, reaching for Stan’s waist. “I’ve wanted to ask you since I saw you.”

Stan gawks at that, trying to find the right words. “Really?”  
  
“Really.” Bill assures, laughing. 

“Okay, what about Friday?”

“If that works for you.” Bill smiles wide, not even trying to hide his pride.

When they start walking again, Bill takes his hand from Stan’s waist, and interlocks their fingers instead. Bills hand is calloused, but its warm and holds onto Stan’s tightly. The gesture makes butterflies shoot around in Stan’s stomach. 

At the door, Bill lets go off Stan’s hand, instead, shoving his own hands in his sweater pocket. “So,” He mumbles, “Friday?”

Stan smiles, putting his hands firm on Bills shoulders and pecking his cheek. “Friday.”

Bills eyes go wide and he seems to not know what to do with himself, not moving. So Stan let’s out a laugh. “Bye, Bill.” He grins, opening his door and making a move to step inside. 

“Yeah, bye Stan.” Bill rushes out, taking a step back and towards his car. 

As soon as he can, he shuts the door. pressing his back firm against it, and tipping his head towards the ceiling, a grin stuck on his face.

He found himself in the next few months, attending a lot more baseball games than he had ever expected to. 


End file.
